Grand Theft Autumn
by Gauge Mnemosyne
Summary: Set in GTA V era Los Santos and San Andreas, based on GTA Online. Callie is fresh off the plane and planning a life of crime and all the rewards that come with it. Her plan is turned on its head when she takes a prostitute back to her motel room. Rated M for swearing, strong sexual references, sexual situations, and violence.


**I**

**The Prostitute**

* * *

Callie was new to Los Santos, her only 'friend' a strange wannabe gang-banger named Lamar. They'd been speaking online; she wanted to get out to the city, start a new life full of lots of thrills and lots of dishonourably earned money; he wanted to fuck her. She knew that, of course, but never sought such attention out, merely put it to the back of her mind. She knew the guy was a misogynistic prick, now matter how much he tried to hide it, and she never told him she didn't swing that way. Still, he was willing to set her up with a job or two, and maybe they could both earn money and street cred from her arrival. Symbiotic, not parasitic.

She didn't like to speak much. She realised quickly that in Los Santos, there were people who'd do the talking for you, and most people she fraternised with didn't ask too many questions. It suited her down to the fucking ground.

Lamar, despite appearing to be completely inept, did right by Callie. Set her up with a whip, got a her a few contacts around the city, and didn't push himself on her, didn't cling to her. In fact, he gave up as soon as he realised she wasn't interested. It made her feel a little bad about throwing the rose he had given her upon first meeting away. She was only a borderline sociopath, after all.

It didn't take her long before she sought out the strip club, The Vanilla Unicorn. Of course, as they always did, heads turned when people saw her perusing the talent on display. She supposed such a thing would normally gain lewd comments from the patrons, but people never seemed to bother her. The fact was, she was intimidating. A tall, shapely, tanned girl with black hair who carried herself extremely confidently, normally holding a cigarette in one hand. She didn't seem like the kind of person who needed the nicotine to ease her cravings, desperately puffing away on a coffee break. No, she seemed like the movie stars of old, who used it to present an aura, and present an aura, she did.

One girl, calling herself Infernus, had given her a particularly hot lap-dance, and didn't seem to mind being touched, however intimately, at all. The girl wasn't forthcoming with any phone numbers, so Callie left, seeking out the ladies of the night.

It didn't take long to find one. She was standing there, shivering, in the dead of night, all long alabaster legs and long red hair. The tiniest of dresses, and the highest of heels. Probably the most beautiful girl Callie had ever seen. Los Santos was amazing.

* * *

"You gonna sit there all night and look?" The prostitute asked. At first the girl had ignored the scary-looking-but-still-somehow-beautiful woman in the big purple sedan. She didn't do girls. Well, she would, but they were incredibly rare, and most of them might as well have been men, only looking for a face to sit on, or a pussy to fuck with an overly-large strap-on. And they could go for hours. They paid well, but less than a night of several men. Not that she had much experience in that.

She learned much of this through the other girls. They were all pretty friendly so long as you didn't step on their toes, and didn't fuck their regulars. No, she had barely been at it a week, and learnt it was pretty competitive. She wasn't going to abandon her condom rule, even if that did lose her customers. The few customers she'd had paid enough for her to keep her head above water, and seeing the pretty young thing with their cocks in her mouth was usually enough for them to cum pretty quickly, even if they were wearing a condom. She hadn't had to let anyone fuck her, yet.

"You look cold," the potential female customer said. Her voice didn't carry any emotion, wasn't spoken particularly loudly, but the hooker heard it, clear as day, despite the noise of the traffic, the police sirens, and the helicopter flying over the city.

Puffing away the last of her cigarette, and after crushing it under heel, the hooker sighed, and reached for the passenger-side handle. The window was already up by the time she had climbed in and shut the door, the warmth of the car putting paid to her constant shivering and the aching that brought to her back. Without a word her new customer started driving.

The prostitute couldn't help but admire the way the woman drove. She was like an expert, driving stick, her right hand switching gears effortlessly, weaving in and out of the late-night traffic, her cocoa thighs in her mini-skirt flexing whenever she pushed down on the throttle, the clutch or the brake.

After not too long, they arrived at a motel, and the pair hadn't exchanged any words beyond their minor interaction on that street corner. The customer got out of the car, and still without saying anything, entered her ground-floor room, merely letting the hooker follow. Once they were both inside and the door was closed, the woman just continued about her room as if she hadn't brought a hooker with her. She threw her keys on the side, took off her sun-glasses, shook off her leather jacket, throwing it onto the bed and revealing a tight t-shirt smothering an ample bosom. She then took a bottle of beer from the fridge, opened it, took a swig and then took it with her to the end of her bed, where she sat down, crossed her legs and turned the TV on.

The girl merely watched from the room's threshold as the woman flicked through the channels, thinking they'd have talked business by now. She felt both perplexed and intimidated.

"Um… it's fifty for oral and a hundred for… um… sex," she plucked up the courage to say. Truth was, she'd never been with a girl. She probably would have done had she gone to college, but her mother dying had stopped that. In fact, her mother dying had killed off any hopes for her future. No other family besides a rapist uncle doing time. Having reached eighteen, she was too old to become a ward of the state. She had to get by on her own.

The woman just looked at her, took another swig from her beer, and patted the bed next to her. Not a welcoming pat with a seductive smile, just a simple, rather heavy-handed pat after she had gone back to flicking through the channels.

Feeling a little more welcome, but still rather uncomfortable in this situation, the prostitute gently sat down next to the woman. Still, she continued to flick through the channels, seemingly searching for something. Every now and then she'd stop to take another swig of Pißwasser, and then continue searching through the stations.

After about half-an-hour, the TV was switched off and the bottle of beer was placed on the floor. Thinking the two were finally going to get down to business, the hooker was rather exasperated by the woman getting her phone out, still ignoring her company, and begin to browse the internet.

"Hey…" the hooker quietly started, "I would have mentioned this earlier, but… we normally don't… do motels. We normally just service a John in his car. Or her car. So… I don't know what the rate for the night is."

The woman looked up from her phone at the girl's words, and once she had finished speaking, stood up, and went to the closet, pulling out a duffel bag and laying it on the bed. Thinking the worst, the girl stood up and started walking backwards toward the door, ready to grab the handle in case a weapon, or rope… or worse was pulled out.

* * *

Out of the corner of her eye, Callie could see the girl shuffling backwards to the door, and had half a mind to start piling her favourite play-things onto the bed. She had a pretty brutal sense of humour, and the door was locked, so the girl was trapped here. So what if she pulled out her ball-gag? There was nothing the girl could do about it now. The little thing was defenceless, even if she might carry her own weapons. Callie wasn't scared of a gun, wasn't scared of dying, and being stabbed merely annoyed her.

She could see the girl both reaching into her own hand-bag and going for the door handle, and Callie liked this girl, or at least liked the look of her. All pretty and innocent. Definitely her type. So, putting aside her own twisted sense of humour that would inevitably lead to violence and not a night of what she had planned, she pulled out the stack of twenties and threw it unceremoniously onto the bed.

* * *

"Two thousand? What for?" The girl asked after she had counted the money that had been handed to her by the woman. She couldn't quite believe it, and now she was wondering what she might have to do to earn it. She was dreading the answer.

"Take your clothes off," the woman ordered.

After a few seconds of trying to disdain the woman's intentions, the girl gave up, her customer's face being unreadable. She put the money in her handbag, which she then placed next to the car keys on the side. Her face burned with embarrassment as she realised this would be the first time naked with a customer. She'd gotten her tits out for a couple of customers before, and granted they had been roughly groped while she went down on them, but she was too focused on getting them to cum so it would be over and done with to worry about bruising or humiliation. But this woman's singular focus was on her, and as she pulled her dress up over herself, she could feel the eyes staring at her.

She held her arms close to her body when she had shed her outfit, unwilling to look at the woman gazing at her now naked body. She wished she had put on underwear - the woman had merely told her to take her clothes off, not to get naked. She silently scolded herself for thinking the two things were different. Of course the woman had wanted her naked.

"Get into bed."

She heard the words come from another room, and now looking up, realised the woman had silently gone into the bathroom. She kicked her heels off and quickly got under the covers, more to cover herself up than in eagerness to commit to any sexual acts this near-silent woman would have her do.

The woman had started showering, the steam flowing from the top of the open door to the bathroom. Sitting up gingerly against the headboard, the girl realised with a groan that she hadn't laid down any ground rules. She'd already gotten her money. It was in the bag, figuratively and literally. Could she take control of the situation if it got past her point of comfort? Now there was the possibility of violence, or having to be raped to get out of there without getting beaten up, with or without the money. You _always_ set the rules before money changes hands! The girl considered quietly getting out of bed, getting her clothes on and making a dash out the door. That would guarantee the generous amount of money, and she needed every cent of it. This plan, however, had several negatives to it.

Firstly, she was more focused on watching the woman drive than to watch where she drove, and the motel they were in was unfamiliar. She had no idea where she was. Secondly, she would be a petite, eighteen year-old hooker in a tight dress and high heels lost somewhere in the middle of the night. Anything could happen. She would be raped and murdered after five minutes. Or worse. She thought of herself kept as a sex-slave in a dingy basement, of being strung up and tortured, or bound to a chair as her throat was cut in front of a camera. She shuddered, and decided she'd rather take her chances in this warm bed.

So she might have to lick some pussy? At least it'd be clean. The woman was showering after all. So she might get roughly fingered? So she might get fucked in the ass by a strap-on? She might have to do any number of things, but at least it was from someone who hadn't shown any violent tendencies in the time she'd been with them. The sounds of teeth being brushed were coming from the bathroom, now, so at least if she was made to kiss the woman, she'd have minty fresh breath. At least all those things being done to her would be by someone fairly young and attractive.

She had to admit this, now. She liked the look of this woman. She wasn't too keen on the way she ignored her, but were the circumstances different, she'd probably have no problem hooking up with her, provided she'd had more experience with women, anyway. She thought what it might have been like to have met her at college. They might have been room-mates, and would have spent each night in the throes of orgasms as their sweaty bodies ground against one another.

Before she could finish the thought, and before she realised the image of having sex with the woman was arousing her, the light went off in the bathroom, and the customer appeared in a long and baggy t-shirt the girl surmised to be the woman's sleeping attire. This confused her. In the back of her mind, she'd expected her to appear in bondage regalia, a whip in one hand and a double-ended dildo in the another. But no, there she was, the only skin showing was her face, arms, legs and feet. And still she carried on as if a prostitute wasn't in her bed, flicking on the bed-side lamp and turning off the room's ceiling light.

Then, she climbed into bed, without even looking at the nude girl, and turned the lamp off. After a few seconds of nothing but darkness and the sounds of the woman getting comfortable, the woman whispered.

"What's your name?"

"Um… Autumn," the hooker answered in her own whisper.

"I'm Callie," came the reply. "Good night, Autumn," she then said.

* * *

_**AN:** I don't know where this came from. Lack of sleep, wanting to write something that was a bit grittier and down to Earth (literally) than Mass Effect and wanting more out of a rather punishing Online mode from one of my favourite game series, probably. Still, I enjoyed writing this, and let it flow naturally. Was going to be just about Callie (yes, it's short for Calista, I'm very unimaginative with names), but Autumn, almost fully formed, was all like, 'hey, put me in this!' So I did._

_It's not very GTA at the moment, and probably won't be all that much, but I know the city of Los Santos better than I know Los Angeles, so for ease of writing and because it was inspired by my GTA Online character, I'm calling it a GTA fan-fiction. Will probably feature some of the crazy crew from GTA V eventually. Will definitely reference or feature a certain Mr Philips._

_This shouldn't really affect my other stories (I hope)._


End file.
